Uncomfortable Favours
by mickeylover303
Summary: Greg has a small favour. Nick doesn’t want to indulge. Slash.


Greg had a dilemma.

He was nestled snugly in their wonderfully uncomfortable couch, on the verge of sleep. However, there was only one thing standing in the way of blesséd unconsciousness.

The uncomfortable couch.

Any other time, Greg would gladly remove himself from said uncomfortable couch. However, he had the stereotypical excuse of being tired. Which he could excuse by his taxing night at work. Three words: sewers and mutilated bodies.

Technically it's four words, but it was too early in the morning for critical thinking of any kind.

Regardless, it wasn't exactly the most agreeable experience.

He did manage to shower with the success of having no residual smells. Or he really would be forced to sleep on the unpleasantness that was the couch.

But instead of lying in the wonderfulness that is their bed, Greg chose to sit with Nick, who was currently being unappreciative of his sacrifice and reading a book.

Only Nick would read books on a Saturday morning.

Thus, he was stranded on the uncomfortable couch, while his boyfriend (lover? mantoy?) lounged unperturbed on the much more relaxing chair.

It was unfair.

Until now, that is.

"Nicky?"

He was reading a novel, glasses askew, but otherwise immersed in his tale.

Giving a grunt as acknowledgement, Nick continued to graze the pages.

"You _do_ love me, right?"

Another grunt was his only reply.

"Not that you don't tell me often," The sound of a page turning filled the pregnant pause.

"But I just need to make sure, Nicky."

Though he continued to read, Nick's eyebrows did raise slightly. Something that Greg, trained CSI level one that he was, immediately noticed.

Because as often as Nick expressed his love for Greg, Greg had no reason to question it. Nick would spend an eternity and more to reassure Greg, of which Greg hoped to manipulate. He knew it was playing dirty, but he was tired. And a worried Nick was a pliable Nick.

A Nick on the verge of breaking: Check

But Greg made one fatal error. Greg referred to him as 'Nicky.' Something that Nick, trained CSI level three that he was, surely noticed.

Because whenever Greg used the endearment, it meant one of two things: Greg was either on an emotional extremity or planning something maniacal. The latter occurred much more frequently that he would like to admit.

Like those "Gummy Handcuffs" he was given three months ago. Words could never express the horror Nick felt at the sight. But now, he was prepared and would not be surprised, this time.

Wary of Greg's newest scheme: Check

He continued to read, waiting for the dirt to hit the fan, so to speak. He could handle whatever Greg would dish out.

"Pick me up?"

But Nick was not prepared to handle this sudden onslaught. As he finally did remove himself from his book, dropping it unto his lap.

"What?" He slowly moved to glance at the man who was curled into the couch. Said man also had the most diabolically innocent expression on his face.

"I know you can, but would you pick me up?" It was the eyes. If he could only look away, Nick wouldn't be so tempted to give in.

"No, Greg. Uh, uh. I am _not_ picking you up." But if he turned away, then Greg would know he was close to giving in.

"What made you think I would pick you up?"

"The fact that I had a long day at work. The fact that I spent two hours in the shower scrubbing whatever stuck to me. And the fact that I came all the way downstairs, in lieu of plopping myself in the comfy bed, just to be with you."

Nick was a bit taken back by Greg's sentimentality, but saw the ploy for what it truly was. "As sweet as that is, I'm still not doing it."

"Why not?"

"Many reasons, Greg. Reading being one of them."

"You're on the last page." Nick glanced at the book, now on the floor. Apparently he was.

"You picked the couch."

"That was before I knew it was going to be uncomfortable."

"Well, I like it."

"Of course you would."

"It's because you're skin and bones Greg. Your ankles are smaller than my wrists."

Greg peered at his ankles, never one to pay much heed to the exaggerated fact. "I have been doing Muay Thai." As his ankles actually were, more or less, the size of Nick's wrists. "So they're not that small."

Nick smiled as he gathered himself from the chair. Greg was curling within himself to gain a better view of his ankles without having to sit up. "Here," Nick sat on the other side of the couch, motioning for Greg to move closer. "Lay your head on my lap."

It wasn't their bed, but being with Nick was certainly more than tantamount. Greg quickly rearranged himself and the blanket he brought from upstairs.

"Was your day really that bad?"

"Yeah, but it's," Greg was interrupted by his own yawn, revealing how truly tired he was, "better, now."

Nick granted a chaste kiss upon Greg's forehead, hoping to help him into sleep. He tangled his fingers in the still damp hair, relishing in the simple action and thankful Greg did spend so long in the shower.

If not, Greg would have been on this couch, alone.

But Nick really did appreciate Greg's gesture.

It was well past dawn, now. Light began to creep through the awful olive curtains strung half-hazardly upon the window. Clashing with the burnt yellow material that was supposedly a rug. Both courtesy of one Mr. Sanders.

Nick would never know how much time had passed since Greg fell asleep. He would rather indulge in these rare moments. Silence with Greg, albeit he was sleeping, was a rare but enjoyable treat. Sometimes, he would lay awake all night, just watching. And it was as if time would suddenly stop.

At least, until Greg rewound the clock.

"So…"

Nick's fingers halted in the now dry hair. "Hmm?"

"Will you carry me?" Though Greg's eyes were still closed, Nick could imagine that relentless gaze.

He snickered softly and continued running his hands through Greg's hair. "No."

_

* * *

_


End file.
